1.  Blotches

2.  Does Your Child?

3.  A Shade Different

Not a Good Night. Poor old Son 1 aged 5y 1m came in at 0230, and I had very little sleep after that. I went downstairs at 4, and then got up at 6, with Son 1 pad-pad-padding down behind me.  One Wednesday Friend - the Booming Businesswoman - is away in South Africa, doing Very Well without the children. The other texted. Swimming?  Nah. Can’t really. I have Son 1 as well as Son 2 aged 2y 2m.  He’s off school with a sore throat.  She would go swimming, we decided, and we three would see her in the cafe afterwards.  I made lunch. I loaded the Big Pram into the car. I loaded all the bags into the car. At about 1015, for some reason I still can’t remember, I checked Son 1’s tummy. There was a rash.  Red.  Not even a rash, particularly. Just big blotches and patches of red.  Nah, not red. Pink. Too faint for red. Nope. Not faint. There. Inescapable.  And, come to think of it, if we’re honest, and not trying to make the least of something, it’s red. Red. At his neck. Under his ears. On his chest. On his tummy.  I kept peering at him. He kept protesting.

I got my Book out.  Rashes With Fever.  Does Your Child Have A Fever? Yes.  Is the rash red, widespread, and vanishes when pressed? Yes. Does Your Child Have A Sore Throat? Yes.  = Scarlet Fever. See Your Doctor.  I looked at Son 1.  I looked at The Rash. I looked at The Book.  I looked at The Rash. I rang the Doctor. The receptionist was vaguely interested. “There’s only emergency appointments left. Is it an emergency?” “Well… he’s got a sore throat, a fever and a rash, and I’d like him someone to look at him today.”  ”Four Fifteen. You’ll have to come and wait.” “That’s fine.”  “So it’s sore throat and fever? His symptoms?” “And The Rash. On his neck. And his body.”  “Could you please just excuse me.  I’m putting you on hold. ”  I tum ti tummed. “Sorry, I can’t get the Duty Doctor. Can he ring you back?”  Of course he can. He rang. ”Bring him in now, I’ll have a look at him between appointments.” 

“Open wide. Say Aaaah. He’s got white spots on his throat and palate. Rashes are hard… that could be viral.. or… what’s his highest temperature been?” “37.9.  And 38 last night, but that was when he was in bed with all his covers on so I didn’t think it counted. But I don’t really do temperatures. I’ve just been giving him Calpol and Ibuprofen to help him when he’s clearly too hot.”  “Over 38 is probably an infection.  What do you think it is? Scarlet Fever?”  ”Well,” I said. “I’ve got this Book. And it says fever, sore throat and rash = Scarlet Fever.  And we’ve been on holiday so he’s been on a plane. And we spent a lot of time in a Spa Bath, and I’ve read somewhere they’re high risk for Scarlet Fever… and… if you tell me it’s not, I’ll be happy.” “It’s not one of those where you take chances,” he said, swabbing Son 1’s cheek. “Usually, if there’s any doubt, you don’t give children antibiotics. Except for suspected Strep, when you do. ” The printer buzzed. ”No school till at least a day after the rash goes and his temperature is normal.  No mixing with other children till you’ve had a clear day.” “What about Son 2?” I asked. “Oh if he’s getting it, he’s got it. Ring on Friday for the Swab result.” Outside, I rang The Man. I told the people we’d been with over the last few days.  Only suspected, I said. Could still be viral. Yes, he did…er.. go red before my very eyes.   At home, the boys watched telly. I made tea.  Son 1 couldn’t eat any. At bedtime, I took off his top to put him in the shower.   His back was shiny, coated in the rash.  No white bits. And I’ve kind of hunted here and there for the right word to describe the shade.  Deep red?  Crimson?  Nah, a just  a few shades pinker.  Vermilion? A bit too orangey.  Scarlet.  Definitely scarlet.

1.  Orienteering

2.  Endurance

3.  Deliverance

A rubbish night’s sleep. Son 1 aged 5y arrived at about 0230 and then couldn’t/wouldn’t go back to sleep. The Man, on his first night back from his Business Trip, gave up on us and de-camped to the Double Bed.   In the end, secret co-sleeping advocate that I am,  I put Son 1 back in his own bed, put the fan on, lay down with him till he went to sleep and trudged off back to the Big Bed.  I still couldn’t sleep.  I was Tetchy and Touchy in the morning. But managed a sudden and sustained Cheer Up when I got into a pair of size 14 trousers.

We went swimming at the Hotel Pool with the Wednesday Friends. The older brothers were still in school.  I forgot Son 1’s rash vest, and was uber anxious about his bright red spotty chest.  Molluscum and eczema.  Great combo.  He couldn’t have cared less. Jumped in, splashed round, dived for sea horses and swam and swam.  He did one width, and then when I wa-hayed and clapped… swam back across the other one. And turned round and swam back again to get me to do it again. A little lesson in how much he’ll do for approval.  So I put him on my back and swam across with him giggling all the way.  Son 2 was great, his fists full of toys he wouldn’t let go of.. and still managing to kick his legs like mad to keep afloat.   At one point when he was getting tired he just hung in the water, watching the others.  I used to take Son 1 to swimming classes every week, and he started swimming in armbands at around 2. And Son 2 has never had a swimming lesson, and has started swimming in armbands at… er… 2.  

We met Granny and Grandad and The Man for lunch. The boys were so tired they only just hung in there, but we made allowances and got away with it. Back home they watched telly, I slumped on the sofa. Having Son 1 back on Wednesday was a Good Thing, and it made me realise how much I miss him.  Son 2 was remarkable. Didn’t sleep in the car after swimming, didn’t sleep in the car after lunch. Didn’t sleep or lie down in the afternoon. And this was after an hour of intense exercise in the pool. By tea he was collapsed against me, picking out the brocolli from the pasta shells. But by pre-bath reading, he had six books and was still trying to get me to do a seventh. He passed out pretty quickly at bedtime, but has just, as I write this at gone 10pm, wailed and wailed and wailed for me. We left him. We are neither of us capable of walking up a flight of stairs to go and see him.

1.  What Do You See, You People Gazing At Me?

2.  Scrumptious As The Breeze Across The Bay

3.  Marshmallow Mouthfuls

Son 1 aged 5 and I got to School on time, after another disturbed night and, subsequently, a bit of a sleep in.  Back home, Son 2 watched Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. It is slowly dawning on me that he thinks I’m in it.  He has, throughout his obsession, sat watching it, saying: “Mummy,” and putting his face against the screen.  Now.  If I were a lot thinner, if my hair were longer and natural instead of short bottle blonde, if I wore hats and sashes… there is a certain pointyness to my nose, the way I know all the songs, and the lashings and lashings of mascara…. I am Truly Scrumptious.   

A text from a Wednesday Mum. The Beach By The Garden. 10am. Son 2 aged 2y 1m and I can’t get anywhere by 10am on a Wednesday morning.  Son 1 aged 2y 1m had a 0930 swimming class at the Town Pool, and I was out striding the mile and a half over there at 0845 every week.  Just can’t do it any more. Son 2 and I got there at 1045.  Two Wednesday Mums, two three year olds, and our old friend from Breastfeeding Group and her second, now a year old.    One Wednesday Mum has just run a half marathon. Pang.  I dug a sandcastle, I went down to the water to bring back bucket after bucket of water.  Son 2 made himself a little bed out of his towel, my towel and a pram blanket.  I read a comic to a three-year-old. Son 2 got up to listen.  One Wednesday Mum left. ”I wan’ a wee wee,” said Son 2. “Do it in your nappy, darling,” said She Who Doesn’t Want To Toilet Train Till We’re Back From Holiday. ”No. I wan’ go on toy toy.” “Come on then.” Off we went to the loo. I changed into my swimsuit while I was there. Son 2 played, and I went for a swim in the sea.  In October. Hooray. I thought the water was flat until two successive waves smacked me in the face, filling my mouth with saltwater. It was cold, but it was great.  I came out. ”I can’t go in,” said the running Wednesday Mum. “I just can’t do cold.”  I wasn’t that cold. This is the difference between someone with no spare flesh, and someone who has built-in layers of goose fat to keep her warm.

Son 2 fell asleep in the Big Pram, so The Man and a work colleague came out for lunchtime burgers.  Son 2 of course woke up, furious.  He was tired and hungry and loud. No. No. No. No. No. No. He wouldn’t let me take him out of the Pram, he wouldn’t be cuddled, he wouldn’t eat…it took about 15 minutes to get him back to us. Then he sat demurely eating his chips.  When we had coffee, he wanted hot chocolate. I took him to the counter. “Tell the lady what you want.” “Hot Choc Choc. Peez.” He has ordered his first drink.

1.  Second Sons

2.  Settling Sons

3.  Getting Sons

The Man took Son 1 aged 5 to school, which left Son 2 aged 2 and I having a serene start.  He wanted to watch telly, so I parked him in front of Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. He sat on my lap. “Mummy wot wi me.” I watched Truly Scrumptious billow chiffon around the annoying children on the beach.  A Wednesday Mum texted. Swimming.  We have been barred from the swimming pool for four years - since the birth of the first Second Son. You cannot go swimming with two under fives in The Town Pool. All our First Sons are now in school… so we can now take our little collection of Son 2s.  Great news. The bad news is I still haven’t replaced my sagging swimsuit.  (I tried Bravissimo, as recommended by Katherine, found a costume I liked but was then asked to register. And I couldn’t be bovved.)  I went to get ready. When I came down Granny had done all the washing up and tidying.   It were brill.

It rained and rained.  We collected one Wednesday Mum and went off to the Town Pool. The other arrived later.  In a knockout swimming costume.   I clutched Son 2 lovingly to my bosom whenever I left the water. He can swim in his armbands now.  I watched him find his balance in the water and, for the first time,  experiment with his arms and legs to see the effect. He swam a good width.  He jumped onto Mummy. He played with the Nearly Four Year Old’s toys.  He splashed in the shallow end. He ordered me into the bubble bath.  He is a joy, and I’m thinking of going each week. We were there 90 minutes, until he lost his trademark ramrod carriage and flopped against me.  We had another soaking getting into the car. We dropped off the Wednesday Mum and NFYO near a cafe entrance. “Ow,” said Son 2, in his most disappointed voice. ”We are going to the cafe, darling, we just have to park.” All three boys were heavenly, sitting still and quietly eating their snacks, proving my theory that over-exercising creates Perfect Children.   These are boys who can sear paint off with their slipstream.

After another drenching, we dropped off Wednesday Mum and NFYO, and picked up Granny.  Son 2 was unconscious.  Down to the Town Square to meet The Man. We lifted Son 2 into The Big Pram and he barely moved. We ordered lunch. Someone I know slightly was in the Telegraph so I went out to get it.  Son 2 woke, unhappy.  He didn’t eat, but he did settle in the end. After lunch we thought about shopping, but the rain still hammered down. The Parking Fairy had two spots outside the house, so in we went.  Son 2, who’d spent all day saying “Get Son 1 from school”  decided he wanted to stay at home and watch Chitty Chitty with Granny. I got wringing wet walking from the car to the school to get Son 1. And back again.

1.  Lost

2.  Left

3.  Legerdemain

I can do this, I thought, swigging coffee at 6am as I emptied the dishwasher and put washing away. Son 1 aged 5 woke up at about 0630. I put him in front of CBeebies while I had a shower. Son 2 aged 2 cried. I did his nappy, dressed him, dressed Son 1, did my hair and make up and got them down for breakfast. Eaten. No spills. Tonicked.  Hair and teeth brushed.   Out of the house on time, a Good Morning to the Man from the Paper Shop with his fluorescent satchel, and a wave to the recycling men as we passed them at the bottom of The Terrace.  We drove to School singing Doll On A Music Box from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, Son 2’s current favourite. We had enough time to park up the Muddy Path. We got out of the car. “Son 1, where’s your school bag?” I checked the seats, the footwells and the boot.  With a slowly dawning dread, I realised I’d put the school bag on the road behind the car while I seatbelted the children in.  Not the end of the world, but next to it was the Nappy Bag. In the Nappy Bag was my card wallet - bank cards, credit cards, loyalty cards, library cards - phone and purse.  And not even on the pavement… on the road. Six or seven cars down from The House. With the recycling men heading on up towards them only minutes away.

The School let me use their phone. The only number I knew was The Man’s. “What do you expect me to do… I’m in France!” Ring the neighbours, I suggested. He has a new phone and his Simcard isn’t working yet.  I drove back. What’s the worst that can happen, I thought.  I will have to cancel a few credit cards and borrow money from Nanna till new ones arrive.   I can get a new phone. It’s Not The End Of The World.  Son 2 fell asleep on the trip back. I double-parked outside The House and sprang from the car. On the doorstep was the organic veg box. With the school bag and nappy bag, contents intact, on top. 

Son 2 and I had a low-key day. We visited one Wednesday Mum at home, and then went round the other’s for lunch.  Afterwards, I drove into The Town, went to the Joke Shop and bought Son 1 a 5+ magic kit and a 99p magic wand.  I put it in his schoolbag and gave it to him when we picked him up. “Where’s my magic wand?” In the car, I said. “Does it have powers?” he asked on the way back. “It’s a toy wand,” I said. “See how you get on with it.”  Back home, we found the magic wand makes bits of magic tricks disappear. “Don’t open the bag with the tricks in until I’ve got Son 2 to bed. You’ll lose the pieces.” Well by the time I’d left Son 2 we were down a rubber pencil and two of our Find-The-Lady white balls.  The balls re-appeared. Son 1 can just about do a swords-through-the-coin trick, and he LOVES the magic paddle.   “Who was the super-good person who helped us with the bags, Mummy?” he asked.   I have considered the suspects.  The neighbours knew nothing. The recycling men - wouldn’t have stopped to look at the bags.  The organic veg man - I didn’t see his van. Step forward…  someone who often sees us leaving for School, who saw us pull away, and who Knows Where We Live.  I think our Secret Hero is the Paper Shop Man.

1.  Mr Bump

2.  Mr Clever

3.  Bash A Fish

The Man took Son 1 aged 5 to school, so Son 2 aged 2 and I could bond at home.  He chose the activity. Sitting on my knee while he watched The Wiggles.  At the party, a Mum-Of-Three kindly donated 3 Wiggles DVDs which hers have outgrown.  Another friend gave him a “Mister Bump” sweatshirt, which I put him in today, thinking it was hilarious.   I went upstairs to do my hair and make up. I went downstairs to put on washing, clean up and get our packed lunch ready. ”Mummeee!  It’s Bished (Finished)!” called Son 2’s distant voice. “Ok!” I called back. Bump-Thump-Crash-Waaaaaaah.  Down the stairs again.  I couldn’t see him, but I know what happened. He thought I was upstairs and was heading on up… he heard my voice from downstairs… swung round and splat.  Never happens with Wonder Nanny. Always happens with me.

I pushed him over to the Rockpool Beach to see the Wednesday Friends. Another Mum from breastfeeding group five years ago was also there.  Two little Wednesday brothers, who’d both been at the Birthday Tea yesterday, were knackered. One cuddled his Mum and slept… the other played and sat.  They were in rainsuits and fleeces.  Son 2, within seconds of arriving, demanded to play in the water. I put him in his neoprene swimsuit, with his sunsuit over the top. He’ll freeze soon, I thought, and then he’ll sit with everyone, so I’ll play with him for a bit first.  Clutching the fishing net I’d transported upright on the Big Pram, he led me to the rockpools.  They were all full of shrimps.  Poor old Son 1 and I have been to that beach time after time. He loves catching shrimp. And we really had very little luck.  It’s one of the reasons we moved onto crabbing. And yet, just after high tide, there they all were, darting around in every one.  It was great. It probably means another polar bear somewhere with no ice cap to live on, but it was great. We caught three before Son 2 demanded we look for crabs. Which we couldn’t find.  He didn’t get cold. He didn’t sleep.  

We walked back via The Square. I had a coffee and got Son 2 a hot chocolate.  He fell over on the concrete - this is where he fell and ended up in casualty - and blacked his cheek. He pointed at something. “Big SeeSaw,” he said.  I kept trying but didn’t get it.  “Seahorse?”  “No.  ‘Mine. Mine. Mine.’ Like Nemo.”  “Oh, seagull!” “Es.”  We rounded up The Man and went to collect Son 1.  “You can bring siblings in for the school photos tomorrow,” said Smiley Teacher. Of course we can. Because Son 2 has a great swollen red mark on his cheek. On the way back we stopped in at The Fish Shop with a sample of water from our tank. Hooray. We can buy two fish.  Son 1 picked some little sparkly silver ones.  Back home, they watched his new Kung Fu Panda DVD, while The Man and I tried to sort the tank. When he set it up, he left the plants in baskets. And they have to be planted. So I stuck two in the gravel and tied one to the bogwood. Then we couldn’t get the airpipes into the skull and the treasure chest properly.  And the tank looked all stirred up and murky. So we put the fish bag in it. The boys ate tea, and then, at last, we released Flossy and Coupon into the water. They seemed to like it.  Then, upstairs, while I was putting Son 2 to bed, Son 1 asked if he could go down and have another look at the fish.  When I’d finally got them both to sleep, I went downstairs and there was only one. “I think we’ve killed the other one already,” said The Man. “Son 1 frightened it, it swam behind the bogwood and that’s it. That was an hour ago. ”  Bugger, I thought. I’d liked those fish.  I went downstairs for the paper while we were eating our meal. Two fish. It vanished again while we were washing up, and then came out when we switched the light off.  I do hope they live. We can have some more at the weekend, according to the woman in the shop. I am having one. When the boys have chosen theirs, and when they are settled, I am going to get one more.  i will put it into the gang and see how long it takes for them to notice. But it will always be Mine.

1.  Assumptions

2.  Avalanche

3.  Aquabatics

I didn’t see the children yesterday. I went out before they were up, and didn’t get back till way after they were in bed asleep.

“Apparently,” said Son 1 aged 4y 11m over breakfast this morning, “everyone in Reception can read except me.” Cannon ball blast through stomach moment. Many moons ago, linguistics was part of my degree, and I have Strong Views about teaching young children to read.  Forget it. Unless they are hanging on your leg and bashing a book against your knee eveytime you see them, concentrate on helping them speak well instead. Son 1 can read and write his name. Weren’t me, guv. Wonder Nanny?  Nursery?  No idea.  And so. If he had picked up the book called “How To Skewer Mummy Right In The Know-It-all-Assumptions” he couldn’t have chosen a better line. I questioned him.  He named two children. One a boy who has an older sister. Second children. Always learn faster. The other a child from Nursery whose parents sent him elsewhere.  A little prodigy who could swim, climb, run, write, draw and talk better than anyone else, and who is probably on his sixth or seventh symphony by now. Way out of our league.  So I worried for a few minutes, but then Looked On The Bright Side, and decided that any four year old who can use “apparently” correctly is going to be All Right.

After The Man has taken Son 1 to school, I left Son 2 aged 2 upstairs watching Chitty Chitty Bang Bang while I put washing on, hoovered, tidied up, ate breakfast, had a little read of the paper and rang a few friends.   I discussed reading, parties, starting school, birthday teas, and had a very nice time.”I do have to go,” I told the last one. “I’ve left Son 2 on his own upstairs for ages and I really must check on him.” I ended that call and then thought I’d quickly ring  a Wednesday mum while I was going upstairs. I dialled the number and there was a massive thump, a wail, then another thump, then a silence and then a loud, terrified howl.  Son 2 was lying about three foot from the bottom of the stairs, face down and crying so hard he could barely breathe. Cuddles. Ibuprofen. Chocolate buttons.  He was ok. I rang a friend to tell her what happened.

We walked over to the Beach By The Garden to meet the Wednesday Friends. All the big boys are now in school.  Son 2 slept on the way over.  We dug, we went to the sea to get him water, we had ice lollies. Another lovely day - less wind than on Friday, but still with a mighty sea swell.  I dug two big sandcastles.  Son 2 trashed them, depending on which one I was building.  A Wednesday Mum dug a big levee and a massive hole for when the tide came in, so the boys could sit in it when the water rushed round.  I swam in the sea. I’m getting faster at going in. Or maybe the water’s warmer. There were a few set, grey hairdos and one bald head bobbing up and down.  Mmmm.  Clearly I am Yoof discovering something that old ladies do. It was fantastic. I prefer it flatter, but I swam out past the big breakers and let the current take me along parallel to the shore, then swam back against it and headed diagonally back in. It was wonderful. Reacting to the power of the water, enjoying breathtaking scenery, touching nature.  The Man had stopped off during his lunch break.  I came out of the water smiling. “Look at the state of your swimming costume,” he said. “It’s disgusting.  Chuck it. I’m throwing it out tonight.”  Just been washed a few too many times, that’s all. Oh dear, if he’s noticed I shall have to find a new one.   Who knows where I can get a forgiving, flattering one-piece that doesn’t automatically admit me to the grey-hair-bobbing-in-the-sea club?  And that also has plenty of space in the bodice.

1.  Saying Goodbye

2.  Introductions

3.  Substitutions

I dropped my contact lens when I was getting up. “I’ll find it,” called Son 1 aged 4y 11m from bed, remembering how last time he got himself a Scooby Doo DVD for finding it. The Man found it, but didn’t admit it, giving Son 1 a clue instead. He came down the stairs, triumphant. ”I want a present now. From your secret present pile.” I gave him a Ben 10 pencil set I’d bought for his birthday.  The Man took him away to school and Son 2 aged 23m and I were left alone in the house.  Bereft.  For four and a half years I’ve worked flat out so they’re never apart from me for longer than two days. And now Son 1 will be gone five days at a time. Pang pang pang.  Son 2 didn’t care, he discarded the Tarzan DVD and put The Wiggles on.  And complained when I stopped it on the second time through so that we could go out.  

We went to the Beach By The Garden.  I took the Big Pram.  Before Son 2, I used to push the Big Pram everywhere. I covered miles and miles.  Son 2 fell asleep.  As I strode through coastal avenues I wondered whether I now had the chance to go for long walks on sunny Wednesdays for the next three years.  At the beach, each Wednesday Mum had only one boy. We last each had only one boy in December 2005.    It was very different.  Son 2 instantly expanded to fit the space alloted him: to the sea for water, climbing up me to balance on my shoulders, sitting with me, digging with me. At one point, as I tried again to loll back on the beach mat, drink black coffee from my flask and chat to the other mums, I considered saying: “Play by yourself, what do you think I am, your Nanny?”  He is of course designed to be irresistable.  I changed into my costume and swam in the sea. I turned round to look back and he had followed me down the sand, towing the beach mat, a Wednesday Mum completing the parade.  He had no intention of letting me go out swimming again, so we sat in the sea together, being slapped out by every seventh wave. “Again, again,” he chortled. 

We picked up Son 1, came back, they watched a bit of telly and I gave them an M and S ready meal spag bol for tea. Son 2 was weeping with misery over Son 1’s Ben 10 stationery kit. Son 1 loves it so much he won’t take anything  out of the box; Son 2 just wants to finger everything. Genuine, deep misery.  “Would you like one for your birthday?” “Yes peez.”  Good job I have the £3 Wall-E from TK MAxx, ready and raring to go.  I put Son 2 to bed. The Man and Son 1 wrapped his presents. Including Wall E.  The Man went out drinking. I came downstairs. On the phone was a message from the entertainer booked for the joint party a week on Saturday. ”Human Error. Mix Up.  Two shows booked for Saturday afternoon. Ours will have to change times. Sorry about short notice, he’s been leaving messaged on the wrong number. He’ll ring everyone. Not to worry.”  i left a message on his answerphone which said: “Sling Yer Hook, we’ll get someone else.”  Then I rang Wonder Nanny Crisis Management Services.  She suggested a person, and gave me a number. The Person can do the party. Hooray.

1.  Start A Revolution

2.  Summertime’s In Bloom

3.  A Better Place To Play

The Man has my cold. He is Very Ill Indeed.  All he could manage this morning was getting himself to work, so  I did breakfastanddressingandtidyingupandcleaningupandwashingandteethandmakingpackedlunches.  Poor old him.  Imagine getting it this bad after only one day.  I really am very lucky that I’ve been able to keep going through the whole week I’ve had it. The dentist rang. I have an appointment tomorrow morning, and so does Son 1 aged 4y 11m.  I made this appointment in February.  When I was in pre-school world. Tomorrow is Son 1’s first day at school.  I rang them. “Bring him in when you’ve finished,” they said.

We’d arranged to meet The Wednesday Friends on the Beach By The Garden. MAcs and wellies, because the forecast was rain. But we just wanted to get outside. By the time I’d finished all my jobs though, we were very late. And it was raining very hard. The others had de-camped into the Beach Cafe.  We arrived, Son 1 in full Captain Hook, Son 2 aged 23m barely awake. Six five-and-under boys in a cafe. Didn’t work. We abandoned it.  Best Friend and Little Brother came here, the other Wednesday Family went home.  The boys played well.  It rained and rained. When it came for home time, Son 1 tried to persuade Best Friend to stay. ”This is the funnest house. We haven’t got all the toys out yet.”  He was the Child Catcher. He cried when they left.

And this evening I became The Terrifying Mother Who Invites The Whole Class To Parties. In my defence… these are September birthdays. Last year I invited one boy from Nursery who’d already invited Son 1 to something, and then spent the rest of the year feeling guilty every time another invitation appeared.  This year they can all come if they like, hospitality done and dusted, hooray hooray.  And Son 1 starts school tomorrow.  Herein endeth the pre-school years.  And our Wednesdays together.  Pang, Pang, Go Away.  I have done my best.     

1.    Infection

2.    Confection

3.    Ingestion

I have a stinking cold, and there is no hope that Son 1 aged 4y 11m and Son 2 aged 23m won’t get it. Son 1 was in bed with me last night, his hands seeking my eyebrows and eyelashes, via my nose and mouth.  Son 2 spends a great deal of time with his fingers up his own nostrils, and also trying to get them up mine.  So although I’ve spent the day trying to Catch It Bin It and Kill It, I have a nasty feeling that next week, when I will be back at work after my holiday, when Son 1 starts reception and when it will all be a bit tense and fraught… I will have two littl’uns feeling awful. Never Mind.  Being Positive. I’ve had a massive stretch of time with neither of them being ill. 

We iced the cakes.  Son 1 and Son 2 on their chairs.  The liquorice allsorts, jelly sweets and sugar letters on the chopping boards.  They stuffed their faces. And spat out the liquorice.  I made icing - first time, ta da! - and they drew on it with writing pens, scattered sprinkles, and stuck sweets on. We had nine cakes, and they looked great.  “Was this as much fun as you thought it would be?” I asked Son 1. “Yes.  Can we do it again?”  Yes. But we will swap our liquorice allsorts for dolly mixtures next time. 

We went to Best Friend’s house for lunch. The whole Wednesday gang was there.  Five year old - who we’ve hardly seen this year since he started school in January, his little brother aged 3 and a half… Best Friend aged nearly 5 and his little brother who’s just three, and Son 1 and Son 2. The five elder boys formed a wolf pack. Son 2 decided to stay with me. The two younger brothers were spat out. There was screeching, strutting, chasing, shoving.  Best Friend accidentally head-butted one Wednesday Mum so hard her nose bled. Son 2 kept getting into various beds, making me think he’s already got The Bug. Five Year Old seemed incredibly grown up.   I have such a clear mental picture of him at 17 weeks old, Son 1 at 9 weeks old, Best Friend at 5 weeks old, lying on pillows at Breastfeeding Group.  Breastfed boys, organic and sugar-free in their early diets.  They polished off the fairy cakes in seconds flat.